


i shoot for the moon but i'm too busy gazing at the stars

by notthebigspoon



Series: Shoot The Moon [1]
Category: Baseball RPF, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 16:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone at some point in their life wants to run away from home. Buster just had the luck (good or bad depends on the day of the week and how close he's came to death during that day) to run into the one man who could help him do it.</p>
<p>Title taken from Not Afraid by Eminem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i shoot for the moon but i'm too busy gazing at the stars

Buster met the Doctor the day his divorce was finalized. He had been walking to the convenience store around the corner from his apartment in search of root beer and red vines when his lawyer had called to let him know. Buster had said okay, hung up and kept walking. He'd only just left the convenience store with a bag full of junk food and booze when a man with a bow tie had grabbed his arm and told him to run.

They've never stopped running.

He says he's not sure what possessed him to go but that would be a lie. The long and short of it was that he was lonely and depressed. All of time and space was better than an empty apartment and sidelong looks from his teammates. Tim wouldn't look at him at all.

It's been worth it. The past few months with the Doctor have been like nothing else in Buster's life. Danger, excitement and saving more than one world. It's magnificent, even if he's almost died a dozen times. The Doctor claims it's eleven and a half. Buster had just glared and took the last 'jammy dodger' for himself.

Today, since Buster has been promised relaxation, they're on a resort planet. The sand is bone white and the water is a mesmerizing shade of blue green. He's parked in a beach chair with the water midway up his calves, humming an Eric Church song when a thought occurs to him.

“Hey Doc?”

“I'm _the Doctor_ , not _the Doc_ , as you well know. What is it?” The Doctor demands peevishly. The TARDIS sustained some damage during their last run-in with something Buster couldn't pronounce (but had tried to decapitate him) and the doctor is still aggravated.

“How long have I been gone? From my world?”

The Doctor drops his wrench and muses on it. “A year and a half. But when you want to go back, I _should_ be able to drop you off on the night that I picked you up.”

“Wow. Didn't realize it had been that long.”

“Of course you haven't. Time runs differently in different worlds and different places, especially on the TARDIS. Still, that's on your world. TARDIS time, ah well... Do you want to go back?” The Doctor sounds as if this troubles him. Buster feels a sense of relief. The Doctor hasn't grown tired of him yet.

Buster shakes his head. “No. Sometimes I never want to. It's like there's nothing left there that I want to see.”

“What about baseball? You said you miss that.”

“I do.” Buster sighs, picking at his shorts. The Giants logo embroidered on them is fading and starting to fray. “But when you get a divorce because you cheated on your wife with a teammate who won't acknowledge that you exist anymore, and the rest of the team kind of suspects... you don't want to go back.”

The Doctor just smiles. “But?”

“But I still want to go back. Not for good. I just want to see what's been going on while I've been gone.”

“Alright then, up you get! Destination San Francisco! The garden is one right, six left, two right and one more left if you'd like to put flowers in your hair.”

Buster smiles in spite of himself and climbs to his feet, sandals dangling from his hand as he walks into the TARDIS, shutting the door behind him. The Doctor is fiddling with the controls and Buster wonders if they're going to end up where they're intending to go. If they didn't, it wouldn't be the first time.

The ride is smoother than most and Buster takes advantage of it to walk to his room to change. Jeans, t-shirt and shoes suitable for running like your life depends on it, as he's been wont to do lately. He pauses for a moment before grabbing a baseball cap he'd picked up on a Japanese space station, jamming it on his head as he jogs back to the control room.

It just about figure that the second he makes it, the TARDIS lurches to a halt and he lands flat on his face. The Doctor starts to apologize but stops when Buster just scowls. 

“I hate you. So much.”

The Gallifreyan very wisely says nothing and gestures for Buster to lead the way. Buster does, pushing open the door. He steps out into a hallway he immediately recognizes as the one that leads to the clubhouse.

“Gotta say Doctor... your navigation is improving. Not sure if this is where I was set on starting out though.” Buster says with a wry smile, hands shaking a little as he steps towards the doors.

“You are entirely too critical Posey. Such a pessimist.”

“Amy is worse.”

“Well, yes, but she's a Scottish ginge. What's your excuse?”

Buster snickers and starts to answer, but he's cut off by a strangled noise of surprise and a death grip to his torso. His face feels scratchy and as if it's just been attacked by a wookie. He lets out a feeble oof as he's shoved back to arm's length.

“Posey! Guys, it's fucking Buster! Where the fuck have you been?!”

“Hi Weezy.” Buster's voice is weak and raspy as he finds himself gulping for air. “What do you mean?”

Wilson stares. “Seriously? You disappear for two fucking years and all you have to say is... what the hell?”

Buster glares over his shoulder at the Doctor, who only shrugs. “Minor miscalculation.”

The door of the clubhouse opens and Tim and Sandoval pad out together, Bumgarner silently trailing them and Crawford not silently at all following. Buster doesn't get to hear the conversation beyond 'los submarinos' before they all stop short and stare at him.

Word travels fast and before long, nearly everyone on the team and in management is coming at him from every direction, demanding to know where the hell he's been and who's the guy with the weird hair and seriously, where the hell has he been for the past two years?

The truth is clearly out of the question and Buster settles for helplessly repeating 'I don't know' over and over again. When the police come, he sticks to that story. The Doctor invents a story of finding him wandering around with no clue who he was, terrible mental break and all that, aided and abetted by the psychic paper. To Buster's utter disbelief, they buy it.

He's relieved, to an extent. Part of him worries about what people will think, reading in the papers that he had a severe psychotic break, but a larger part finds that's probably one of the easier hands he could be dealt in this situation. When the police finally release him, it's closing on three in the morning and all Buster wants to do is sleep.

The Doctor pats him on the shoulder. “You're a rather important man, Buster Posey.”

“I was pretty good at what I did. A guy disappears without a trace right after winning the world series, guess it's bound to be a big deal.” Buster shrugs. He feels all the pain and failure and despair he'd felt in those weeks come rushing back to him and wonders if he looks as bad as he feels. He glances at the Doctor. “Even though it's mostly your fault, thanks. For saving my ass. And... for taking me away from here in the first place.”

“A pleasure. Are you going to stay?”

“What's the point? They still have my contract but they've replaced me. They're not going to bump someone good for a supposed head case who's probably pretty damn rusty.”

“Doesn't mean you shouldn't go to practice today. The man with the large head-” Buster snorts and the Doctor glares, knowing exactly what Buster's thinking. “- with the head larger than mine, asked you to.”

“Bochy.”

“Go.”

“You're not the boss of me.”

“Very mature.”

The TARDIS, when they sneak back into the stadium, is humming comfortingly when they return. It's as if she senses the bad day he's had. He feels a warmth that reads to him as 'I love you, get some rest' and when he crawls into his bed, he falls into a deep and dreamless sleep.


End file.
